When Opportunity Knocks
by threadcount
Summary: The Dragonborn arrives at Riften for the first time, and meets a man named Brynjolf. He sees potential in her, she sees an easy way to get gold in him, and all they need is a distraction and a few lockpicks to get her initiated in a certain Guild in the Ratways. (Rated T for some innuendo.)


My footsteps echo along the alleyways as I wander around Riften. I try to curve my leather boots more carefully, but the sound is still too loud for my comfort. It's a bit difficult to sneak on cobblestone, and the city is all hard rock and rotting wood. It isn't ideal. Especially given the smell of the place. My nose wrinkles for the fourth time in an involuntary crinkle of displeasure. Everything smells wet- a hint of fish, sewer, and mud hang stagnant in the air. I missed the fresh smell of Solitude and the sharp, icy inhales I took in Winterhold.

Then again, the place holds promise for someone with quick fingers; a few well-stocked shops look promising while I weave through crowded streets and deserted corners. A good opportunity, I decide. A temporary one. I'm thinking about where I'll eventually settle- if that ever happens- when a spacious circle of market stalls catches my eye. More specifically, the coaxing twinkle of a large, clean emerald in a case locked up tight. Good opportunity, indeed.

I spend only a few seconds looking at the stall, really. I learned long ago not to be conspicuous in my interest, because otherwise that's how detailed wanted posters turn up and guards ask for me at local taverns. Yet I'd just begun to turn around when I heard a low, smooth voice practically at my ear.

"See anything you like, lass?"

I inhale again and try with a great deal of effort not to cringe as my deep breath gives me the dirty fish smell.

"I beg your pardon?" My voice is cold, and I don't turn around. Pretend haughty indifference, and perhaps he will lose interest? I don't know where to hide a body in the city yet.

The warm voice chuckles, still close, and an accent I can't place continues in a slow, unhurried cadence. "Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass? I only ask because I'm good at spotting it. You look like someone good with your hands."

That was enough. Lady-of-the-night insults meant a good punch. I spin around, and find myself needing to look up. Way, way up. He's tall, this degrading fool, with a rough beard and deep red hair. Thick, lustrous-looking and long red hair, actually. The color of a garnet. The kind of hair you want to run your hands through. Thankfully, however, I can handle myself around good-looking men.

"I am," I snap back. "They're especially adept with bows and daggers."

The man grins, showing a shock of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Aye, I was right," he said to no one in particular. "Just the type I've been looking for. It's all about sizing up your mark."

I'm thinking about whether right now is the best time for a swift kick between his legs when he holds up a large hand. I look for a moment at the long fingers, the marks of soot and small callouses, and he continues. "What I mean is, lass, you look as though you wouldn't have any trouble appreciating those jewels over there with your own fingers. Deft, you see. Nimble. Like me."

"You? Nimble? With those hands?" I'm still processing the sheer size of his palms.

"Aye. It gets me gold. And wealth is my business. I'd very much like to see how capable you actually are, so you and I could do business together. I could even provide gold if you do me a little favor, show you how well it pays to help me and my friends out." He still managed to sound as though he wants me in his bed. "Maybe you'd like a little taste?"

"Why would I bother with that? I'm busy. As a matter of fact, I'm someone of a bit of importance at the moment. Big quest to do, and all that. Many people are depending on me. They trust me."

He glances over my shoulder, his eyes traveling down my back to the heavy satchel filled with my supplies. "I'm certain, lass, that this is not the first time you've wished to...appreciate beautiful things more closely than looking into some locked-up case. I'm sure in times before you met me, you were able to manage it. Wouldn't you like to meet someone, or a few people, even, who can give you a good bit of gold for those things?"

"Who are you?"

"Brynjolf."

"And what would you know about wanting things?"

He gave me another smile, eyes locked onto mine, and his voice dropped even lower. Pure invitation was in his tone now- a promise of bare skin and tangled sheets, heat and dark, for as long as I'd let him. "I know a great deal. I appreciate beautiful things, myself."

Clearly, this Brynjolf is hopeless. I'd never get real conversation out of him. Then again, a fence? I'd been in desperate need of one ever since I escaped my execution, really. I might have even stolen a few nice trinkets from the houses burning from a dragon's temper tantrum. Not to mention all those kindly townsfolk inviting in a poor refugee from Helgen into their lovely homes in Riverwood. I'd made out like a fiend. And now, admittedly, after buying that glorious black bow I couldn't overlook in the blacksmith's shop in Solitude, I was hurting for gold.

"What do you expect me to do?" I ask.

Brynjolf crosses his arms, his face crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He must smile a lot, I think. Probably gets him into soft skirts and out of expensive tabs. He may think he won me over, but he has no idea how many baubles I have sitting in my pack. In the end, his fence may set a record for highest turnover at the black market. And in the end, as always, I'd win.

"I'm going to set up a nice distraction in the center of the market. While I'm talking, you're going to steal Modesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand." He pointed to an Argonian. "Once you have, it I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing. I'll only give you so much time, and if you're caught, I've never met you. The guards will have a fine time stripping you down and searching you over." His eyes went up and down my figure again, but I chose to ignore it in favor of more important things. "Can you manage that, lass?"

I smirked at him. I couldn't help it. This was something I could do one-handed with a troll breathing down my neck. Becoming this fabled Dragonborn person was one thing; it was bizarre to be recognized by strangers, to have elders with expectations watching you, to have such a heavy and scale-ridden responsibility weighing on the small shoulders of someone who didn't deserve it. I had always been no one, and no one had ever expected me to do something great. But this task? This is how I live and breathe.

"Of course. Start whenever you're ready."

"I like the confidence. See you in a few minutes, provided you're successful. If not, maybe I'll visit you in the cell you'll soon call home."

"Don't bother to show up," I fire back.

"Oh, I will, lass. If they allow contact between the bars at least." Still grinning, he walked off into the crowded market.

For just a second, I frown. I always have the last word. He stole it from me.

* * *

I sit in the sun for a few minutes, enjoying the small amount of time the yellow light peeks around the clouds. It seems chilly in town- the moisture in the air practically seeps through my skin. Cloudy, smelly, dank, and poverty-ridden. I'd move on to better cities soon. When Brynjolf's voice finally rings out, I almost don't register it. I'd incorrectly assumed that even talking to the public, he'd sound seductive and deep. Instead, his rough accent is even more pronounced, and his voice rings out effectively.

"Everyone! Everyone! Gather round! No pushing, no shoving- plenty of room!"

Sure enough, the crowd gathers. I note with amusement that the primary audience consists of finely dressed women. I can't imagine why, I think sarcastically as my eyes travel up and down the muscles hidden under Brynjolf's shirt. He continues. "Come one! Come all! Experience the miraculous effects of a drink from the ancient days! A miracle ailment curer! Lads and lasses, I give you Falmerblood Elixir!"

The crowd makes an appropriate "ooh" sound, and I'm already behind Modesi's stall. It's well-fortified, but I have plenty of lockpicks. The only thing I must worry about is sheer timing. Picking difficult locks makes a lot of clinking sounds, and a chance quiet moment during the distraction could mean jail time. However, for as long as I can remember, I've always had a bit of luck. So many things can go wrong for one who makes her money through stealth and thievery. One lockpick left that breaks on an easy lock, a motion seen with the corner of a guard's eye, or a homeowner waking up as a thief pilfers through his drawers are all risks that are impossible to avoid entirely. Those chance events had never happened to me, as though some unseen power or guardian had my back when I stole. I'd always been successful in the sheer luck it takes to pocket lovely items.

Well, I think grudgingly as the last tumbler in the lock clicks, I was always lucky until the robbery that landed me an execution in Hegel. That one was not so successful.

The ring slides gently into my pocket, and I can't help but snatch up a small ruby and a firm handful of Modesi's gold as well. I'm a weak elf. Then I'm over the wall again, strolling around the circle. I find the other man Brynjolf pointed out, and I take a minute to examine the attentive audience. I could stand next to him, near others that crowded in the circle, and when the audience disperses I could brush against him. I could go for the lovely-girl-dropped-her-key act that makes a man bend down and give me access to pockets. But then I look past him. He's propped up comfortably against a stack of boxes, two high. Just right for someone short to sneak behind.

Even if this convenience was a setup (but based on my luck and Brynjolf's semi-sincere flirting, I think not) I wouldn't be found. Unknown in this city, dressed in dark supple armor, and I'm just too good. Both feet swivel noiselessly over the stone and land directly behind the boxes. I pull out the ring and see Brand-Shei's back through a small crack in the wood. Easy. I close my eyes for a second to focus. And as Brynjolf thanks the crowd for listening, reminding them that twenty Septims was an absolute steal for this elixir, the ring sits comfortably in Brand-Shei's pocket and I'm already halfway to the tavern.

* * *

I try hard not to smile when I hear the footfalls of someone who owes me coming into the Bee and Barb. Sure, it hadn't been challenging to do what he'd asked, but his smarmy remarks seemed less biting now.

Instead of coming up to put his mouth near my ear like last time, he's moving around the room, talking to people. Pride makes me face the wall over the bar. I won't look like some simpering, overeager dog who did her master's bidding and wants her treat at the end. I don't see him close to me until the innkeeper is already passing me a mug of honey ale. I look at her curiously, and she points to the redheaded man who is now sitting on the stool next to me. She gives me an eyebrow wiggle, and I shake my head. That doesn't seem to be enough information conveyed to stop her from ogling him while he playfully thumps my shoulder with his. Little does that poor old woman know…

"I knew I'd picked the right person for the job," he said proudly.

"Is this my share?" I hold up the ale.

"No. Just a little bonus for a job well done."

I frown. "Then when do I get paid?"

"Ah, not as good as you think you are, eh lass? Or you just underestimate me. I've already paid you."

What? I didn't even feel a…I pat my left pocket and, sure enough, it jingles with the sound of a bag of coins. Dammit. He must have been counting on me trying to sit smugly until he came to me, and focusing so much on seeming relaxed and aloof that I wouldn't notice the quick, delicate slip of the bag into my coat pocket. Using predictions of how people behave and what they'll pay attention to was something I'd used often in the past to ensure a pickpocket event or a home burglary went smoothly. I just hadn't expected someone to use it on me. He was absolutely right. I had underestimated him.

"Nice," I admit grudgingly.

"Don't feel too bad. I didn't even see you slipping around the corners while I was maintaining the distraction. That may be because the audience was so attentive: there was a blonde woman in green velvet making promises with her eyes while I talked. Yet it also may be because you're that good. Trust me. If you weren't, I'd notice a lass who looks like you from across town."

I choose not to answer this, and so take a sip of my ale. Everything tastes better when it's free.

"So what else did you get?"

"Hmm?"

"Oh, please. Don't be coy with me. Unless it's how you tease a man before renting a room for the night and making good on all the false promises. I know you took more than the ring out of Modesi's stall. He has a strongbox and a case for jewels and the gold he earns. There's no way people like us can ignore that. Did you take all of it?"

"Of course not. That would make Modesi suspicious of the ring plot. If all the gold is gone, it's obvious a thief broke in and planted something on someone else."

He nodded. "Good girl. I didn't know whether you'd think of that or not. If you did, I would have needed to go through your pockets and replace some of what you took. It was either less work for me because you knew to leave some, or more fun for me because you didn't."

"And now what? Now that you know a little of what I can do?"

The light from the fireplace flickered in his dark eyes, and he continued to poke fun at me. "Only a little, eh? I intend to know a great deal of what you can do."

"Brynjolf, I can assure you that no matter how many ridiculous lines you spout at me while I try to gain something from you, I will not eventually break down and beg you to take me to your bed. It will not happen. Just give up."

"Never is a long time, lass. And I'm willing to wait. In the meantime, though, head to the Ratway here in town, at the docks. You get from there to a place called the Ragged Flagon, and I'll be waiting. So will a couple of fences with too much gold on their hands. Then we'll see where it goes. If all you want is to sell off the collection you've piled up, I'll sadly watch you leave and that will be the end of it. On the other hand, if you'd like regular payments of gold, regular access to fences, and a safe place to sleep, we can talk more."

Before I can say anything, he stands up and places coins on the bar. "It has been an absolute delight to meet you, lass, regardless of what you decide to do. I'm not being coy, either. I really do hope you'll survive the Ratways enough to make it to me."

Dammit, dammit- think of something clever to say before he- but the door shuts, he's gone, and he had the last word again.

Five seconds later, staring into my ale, I thought of the perfect biting comeback. I would have to work on my witty banter before seeing him again.


End file.
